


The Popular Vote

by phaetonschariot



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Captain America Sam Wilson, Feels, Gen, Racism, Self-Indulgent, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Topical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaetonschariot/pseuds/phaetonschariot
Summary: Sam's lucky he's been Steve's partner for so long, because he never thought that being Captain America would be easy. He's just not sure he ever thought it would be this hard, either.





	

It figures that Steve's the one who finds him. Who else would think to look here? It's been years since Sam lived in the apartment two floors below, and even if one of his current friends had thought to look up his old address and come to check, he doubts they'd remember that he'd once spent his mornings tending pigeons on the building's roof. Steve… well, Steve had spent enough of those mornings with him that it's not just a point of meaningless trivia to him. The aviaries are all gone now of course, but he can still see a few dark lines baked into the concrete where dirt and guano had worn in despite regular cleanings. He'd idly scraped at one of them with the edge of the shield, but it hadn't done anything, and now it was just sitting on the roof in front of him with the star pointing up towards the open sky as he frowned at it.

Steve sits down next to him. Out of the corner of his eye Sam can see him making a bit of a face as he gets down on the ground, like he's still not used to his body being back to fighting weight after the couple of years he spent without the serum in his blood. He waits for Sam to speak first. Probably a good thing, considering; he's a great guy, but Sam is already pretty sick of white guy hot takes.

"Still got the Nomad costume?" he asks finally. 

"Thinking about a change?" Steve's mouth twists into a brief ghost of a smile, like he's not sure whether or not they're really joking. 

That's fair. Sam isn't, either.

He shakes his head slowly though, because even if he was thinking about it, he couldn't really do it. He knows that. He hasn't been hounded out of the job yet, like hell he's going to let it happen now. People are depending on him to stick to the course. (By which he means, Misty would kill him.) "Actually, this is pretty good news for me."

The movement when Steve turns to look at him, surprised and confused, is _not_ subtle. 

"At least I know it's not personal," Sam continues. "No one's actually bothered about my performance, they're all just _reaaaaaaally_ damn racist."

It makes Steve laugh, at least. Briefly. He sobers up too quickly, and that's what Sam hates, he realises. Everyone he's seen, everyone he's spoken to, is too serious today. The stupid thing is he's pretty sure he'd be pissed off if they _weren't_ , but the weight of it all is crushing. What he really wants is just to go back a couple of days and try all this again. _Hey, did anyone think to check in at that save point?_ Maybe they'd get it right this time.

He's not sure which of them closes the inch or two between them, but a moment later he can feel Steve's solid warmth where they're pressed together, shoulder to elbow and knees. It's comforting, though he doesn't - wouldn't - say so out loud. 

"You scared?" Not the sort of question Steve would usually ask him, and if it wasn't for the sombre tone in his voice Sam would have brushed it off with however much macho dismissal he could summon. 

He doesn't think he means it lightly, though. It's not like… _are you worried about getting shot?_ or something trite like that. More fundamental. They're sitting up here, symbols of the nation, and he thinks that for once Steve might be just as aware as he is that sometimes it's less apple pie and baseball and more strange fruit and lynchings. He breathes out, a little unsteady as he considers the question, then just shakes his head. More in disbelief than negation. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah," Steve admits. Sam nods, staring at the shield again and letting himself lean a little further against him. He doesn't really want to move, but they're both going to have to make themselves seen soon. Do the political thing. He doesn't know what he's going to say, but he's sure it'll be good and inspirational, maybe even up to Steve's standards.

People are going to hate it.

Well. He didn't take the job because he wanted to be popular. He closes his eyes for a moment, lets himself soak in the moment, because if there's anything he's learned it's that when things change, they change real damn fast. "Okay." He intends to reach out to pick up the shield but finds himself groping for Steve's hand instead, grabbing it tightly like he needs the lifeline, and to his credit all Steve does is squeeze back. "Okay. Wanna fly?"

"Not too heavy?" Steve's teasing, an old joke, and somehow Sam manages to meet his gaze with a grin.

"Nah, man. You're good."


End file.
